“On what basis?” Ethan asks, not to be argumentative, but to try and follow my train of thought.
“Because neither of them make sense.” I close my eyes and reach up, wincing when I touch the raw skin on my neck. “I don’t know.”
Ethan puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “Why don’t you go sit in the living room and watch TV or take a nap if you want to. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and feed the horses.”
“It’s my turn to take care of them.”
“You can make it up to me later.” His lips curve up in a lopsided grin. “Do you want ice for your neck?”
“No, maybe some healing balm if we have any left.” I pull my hair to the side and show him the patch of skin where Stuart’s nails scratched my skin.
“I’ll get you some,” Nik offers and he and Ethan both go into the kitchen. Still dressed in pajama pants and one of Ethan’s t-shirts, I grab a blanket from the hall closet and go into the living room, wrapping up and sinking down on the couch. Hunter joins me and we snuggle together. I am still tired but know for sure I won’t be able to fall asleep right now.
Instead, I opt for reruns ofFriendsand try to relax but I keep looking outside, expecting to see someone standing in the yard. I’m still looking out the window when a truck drives down the road. It slows as it passes the house, but it’s not unusual for Donna to spy.
Seeing her truck reminds me of the familiar lurking around the area, which in turn makes Margret’s words echo through my mind: he didn’t just bring out her dark side, he encouraged it. If this is the same warlock, then what the hell is he doing back here? He’d have to know Estelle was dead.
Nik thought whoever framed Ethan was trying to unnerve me, but what if they wanted to do the opposite? If they’re going to make me mad, take me from Wanda Maximoff to fullScarlet Witch,there is one sure way to make that happen. Mess with Ethan, the one person I love more than anything on earth and you’re begging to see my dangerous dark side.
ChapterTwenty-Three
“Got it,” Ethan practically cheers, turning his laptop around. We’re sitting in the library and have spent the last hour going through property records to find the owner of the house back in the 1980s. Owen Jones owned and ran the apartment complex, but died ten years ago. The property sold a handful of times, and we tracked each owner and were eventually able to find the people who bought the house in hopes of turning it into a wedding venue. They started blogging their “renovation journey” on social media and posted a bunch of historic photos, including one from 1985, showcasing the beautiful gardens, cared for by the “1988 Winner of the Midwest Horticulture Society’s Master Gardener of the year.”
From there, we were able to get a hold of someone from the Horticulture Society who was confused as to why we asked for info on the winner from so long ago. Thankfully, Ethan is charming and convincing and we were able to get Stuart’s last name: Brown. Being a common surname, it took a bit of weeding to find the right guy.
“He’s buried here in Paradise Valley.” He highlights something on the screen, showing me the grave’s location in the cemetery.
“Wow. I didn’t knowFind a Gravewas a thing,”
“It’s made my job easier a few times, which is probably not something the creators of this site thought of.”
“Yeah.” I agree with a laugh.
“We should check out the cemetery in the daylight and clean out the burn pile.”
“Sounds like a date. Want to grab lunch on the way?”
“Of course.” Ethan closes his computer and puts his arm around me. “We really do make a good team.”
“We do.” I turn my head up to kiss him, feeling a sense of relief.We’ve got you now, fucker. My phone rings and Ethan grabs it for me off the coffee table. It’s Harrison, and I quickly answer. He prefers to text instead of call.
“Hello?” I answer, ready to yell at him if he’s calling to say he broke things off with Saanvi.
“Hey, sis. Yes, I’m fine. I’m driving so I’m calling.”
“It’s like you know me or something,” I say with a slight laugh. “What’s going on?”
“I have a meeting with that client who owns the riverboat dinner cruises. Are you guys available this weekend?”
“In theory,” I reply. “But we should probably leave an exact date as, uh, TBD for the moment.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Well, the smell of my house reminds me of your dorm room in college because I burned literally all of my sage making sure the ghost of a serial killer who’s still serial killing post mortem has been properly banished so I could recast my warding that someone else broke probably so they could send more demons after me.”
“All that happened since Saturday?”
“Yeah, and I don’t even know what day it is right now. Remember the remains I said Hunter sniffed out?”